by Ellyn, Court
His eyes were the greenest she’d ever seen, like emerald shadow. Her mouth had turned to cotton. She gulped. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
It was a stately dance, one meant to symbolize harmony between nations, between a king and his court, between a man and a woman, and for that it was a diplomatic choice. She had danced it once with Valryk at one Assembly or another, but that was before he was a king, and it was a bit of fun between cousins. This was altogether different. As the music started, she feared the fate of the realms rested on her performance. But then the White Falcon was guiding her in a sweeping circle around him, and she had no time to think about anything else. He exuded a grace and a dignity that made Carah feel as inept as a newborn goat; it took all her effort to match it.
“You are the War Commander’s daughter,” he said, leading her in a promenade on his fingertips.
“Yes, sire.” What stronger statement than for the White Falcon to dance with the daughter of the man responsible for his kingdom’s defeat? Only, which statement was Arryk making?
“I’ve read much about him. Are you as determined and stubborn as he is?”
Carah’s glance snapped around, then the steps brought them face to face. “Oh, much more.” She blurted it like a confession of folly, but the White Falcon laughed as if he approved.
“What sorts of things are written about my father?” she asked, even though it was inappropriate to interrogate him in return.
He didn’t seem to mind. “Oh, the worst. He’s a terrifying man.”
Carah had to grin at that. “Yet you dare dance with his daughter?”
“I’m a terrifying man.”
The spark of flirtation chilled to ashes at that. “I believe you.” Yet as they went round and round from one end of the ballroom to the other, he gazed at her in such an enrapt way that Carah’s fear of him soon ebbed. She recalled the way he had possessed his enemy’s courtyard upon his arrival, and for the space of the dance he possessed her, too. The realization was shocking but not frightening, as perhaps it should’ve been.
When the last notes sounded, she sank into a deep curtsy and he bowed over her hand. “Shall I escort you to your father?” he asked, setting her hand on his arm.
Her face was on fire and her voice stuck in her throat. All she could do was nod. Everyone was staring at her. Astonishment, coolness, uncertainty punctuated the applause. Don’t acknowledge them, she warned herself, raising her chin. Da’s eyes were a fraction too wide, Carah decided, finding him among the crowd. He bowed his head as the White Falcon approached, then took Carah’s hand a measure hastily.
“You do me honor, Your Majesty, by honoring my daughter.”
“Oh, no, Lord Ilswythe. She does me the honor.” He started back toward the dais. “I hope we’ll have a chance to talk later.”
Da bowed again, then turned to Carah, accusation ripe on his face. “About what, I wonder.”
Carah shrugged emphatically, barely managing to keep a straight face.
Someone giggled nervously in her ear. “What was that?” She turned to find Cousin Ni’avh blushing to the tips of her ears. The handsome lines around her eyes deepened as she smiled. “My father says that King Ha’el says that the White Falcon hasn’t danced since his queen died seven years ago.”
“I don’t believe it, begging King Ha’el’s pardon. How would he know? The White Falcon wasn’t the least bit rusty.”
Ni’avh laughed. “We all saw that. If he doesn’t dance with anyone else, well, we’ll all be suspicious by morning.”
“What nonsense!” Carah hissed, even though her heart hammered in her throat.
The dances were over for her after that. Maeret and a circle of other young ladies surrounded her, whispering and giggling and asking the kind of questions that silly girls asked. Dreading gossip that would cheapen the evening, she nudged her da. “Let’s go. I’m tired of it.” They had only half the night left for sleep as it was. Morning would come too soon. Kelyn voiced no complaints and let her lean on his arm as they slipped from the ballroom into the cool quiet of the King’s Hall. Seated at the tables, Garrs and Master Brugge drank and laughed and tossed dice with someone wearing the ship device of House Endhal. Young Lord Ulmarr whispered excitedly with a handful of White Mantles. He cast a disdainful glance at Carah and her father, then turned his back to them. She was too tired to feel anything but irritation at the slight. “Curse these shoes,” she groaned.
Rhian stumbled along behind them, either exhausted or half-drunk himself. Carah had seen him frequently inspecting the wine table after brushing off the attentions of several ladies. How many times had he been forced to tell his lie about being a highborn’s son?
“M’ lord Ilswythe!”
Da swore softly as he turned toward the voice. A page waved him down. King Valryk strode along behind him. “Oh,” Da said and wiped the annoyance from his face. “Your Majesty, a successful evening. No bloodshed.”
Valryk stopped cold, blinking as if the word were a slap. “No … not ....” He cleared his throat. “I wonder if you’d speak with Captain Tullyk.” He gestured across the Hall where the garrison commander scolded a pair of sentries, likely for nodding off. “You were a Falcon Guardsmen, were you not?”
“Briefly,” Da replied.
“The Hall will be crowded enough tomorrow. Only a select few guards will be permitted inside, and no weapons, of course. Still, Tullyk requested someone on the inside to help keep things civil. Would you?” His nod toward the garrison commander said, “Now.”
Kelyn did as the king ordered. Left alone with Valryk, Carah sought something pleasant to say. “I’d hoped to dance with you as well, sire.”
His smile was curt. “I was not in a dancing mood.”
“Yes, I—”
“I noticed your mother is not here.”
The thinly hidden anger in the interruption jarred her. Rhian’s presence was a comfort. The pearl fisher gazed back toward the ballroom doors, pretending disinterest. “Er, no. She felt poorly last week. We would not let her risk the weather. She desperately wanted to come. We thought Kethlyn would be here to represent Evaronna’s interests.”
“Your brother is on king’s business. It keeps him in Windhaven.”
“Oh, good.” Carah pressed on a smile. “Mother will be pleased. We had begun to think something had happened to him.”
He offered his arm and escorted her on toward the corridor. Pausing between the great silver doors, he whispered, “Some things can’t be taken back, you know.”
What things? Was he angry that she’d danced with King Arryk?
“If I … ask you to stay in your room tomorrow, would you do that? For me?”
“You want me to miss the talks? You invited me to attend.”
“Yes, I did. But I fear sentiments will get out of hand, and I couldn’t bear to see you hurt.”
The stink of blood filled her nostrils, the crunch of bone her ears. Bone and blood oozed through a hooded man’s fingers. Cautiously Carah let her awareness crack open, like the shell of a clam. The buzzing and the pain were a net that she tossed toward Valryk. It bounced right back at her. Silent Speech detected nothing, just as Uncle Thorn had said. The king’s thoughts were swaddled in cotton batting. Carah stuttered for a response. “I m-must do as my king commands.”
“He commands you to shun the King’s Hall tomorrow.”
She nodded in acquiescence and was grateful to see her father returning across the Hall.
Valryk hurried back to the ballroom before Kelyn rejoined them, obvious in his wish to avoid him further. “That was … awkward,” Da said, watching him go. “Tullyk hardly knew what I was talking about. What did the king say to you?”
Carah glanced between her father and Rhian, feeling soiled somehow. “I need to speak with Uncle Thorn.”
From the balcony floated the opening chords of “My Heart Longs,” the traditional closing song. They hurried upstairs before the crowd of highborns caught up to them. As soon as they s
hut the door to Carah’s room, a veil shimmered and dispersed. Thorn must have followed them from the King’s Hall. “I heard what the king said. You’re right to be wary.” As soon as they explained Valryk’s wishes to Kelyn, he argued with his brother over what those wishes implied.
“Maybe he means to start a war,” Da suggested. “Pick a fight.”
“A fight takes two, and I’ve read Arryk’s thoughts. He’s not up for it. He hopes for peace as much as you do.” In the end, Thorn had to shrug in surrender. “The point is, Valryk wants Carah kept safe, which means this room in all Bramoran is a sanctuary. Kelyn, gather your things. You’re not sleeping alone. We’ll camp out in here.”
“Camp out! All of you? In here?” Carah groaned, desperate for quiet and space and a long hug with a pillow.
Even her da clenched his teeth against a strident argument. “Sounds … cozy.”
Carah wasn’t about to give up her bed. Da fluffed his pillow on the full-length settee, and Uncle Thorn stretched out on the window seat. Rhian looked at home on the hearth rug. Long after Da blew out the lamps, however, Carah heard sharp sniffles and soft rustlings that told her none of them slept. The red moon dipped under the eaves and peered through the window, casting her uncle’s shadow across the lilac bed. He wasn’t pretending to sleep but kept watch through the window.
Forget it all, Carah instructed herself. Sleep is what matters. Leave our troubles for tomorrow.
The scent of blood, the grinding and cracking of bone as fingers closed and squeezed. Corridors of stone, dark with night and slick with wet. Water dripped from the ceiling, or was it blood? Carah ran, breathless. Endless passages spiraled ahead and were lost in engulfing darkness. With every turn lurked the certainty that a pair of eyes knew exactly where she was, that a hunter followed, only steps behind.
A fire flared, a light gentle and soothing in the dark. It warmed her from the inside out. She sank back into his embrace and kisses peppered her throat. Here, terror could not reach her. Eyes amid the dancing light. Aquamarine eyes. She was drowning in a hot sea, waters deep and endless, and she was free. Forests of yellow kelp danced in the dark wet winds under the sea, and schools of silver fish darted among the fronds, glistening like coins tossed toward the sun. Below, treasures waited to be found. If she swam deep enough, she might grasp a blue moon in her palm.
He waited for her on a sandy shore. The wind swept his hair about his face as he gazed out to sea. The billows rolled green and white, slow and silent. Thunder hammered in her chest; sand grit between her toes. He didn’t know she had come, that she had found him at last. She tried to run, but he remained far away on the windswept beach, sand climbing higher and higher up his legs. If she cried out to him, the sand would spit him out and together they would swim away. But she couldn’t remember his name.
She woke in a strange bed that smelled of lilacs. A fire crackled in the hearth. Logs shifted; embers wafted up and out of sight. He lay on the hearth rug, propped up on one elbow, a lean black silhouette. With a poker he jabbed at the embers. What spell had he cast into the fire to make her dream such a dream? She watched him only a short while before he turned his head as if to peer over his shoulder. The firelight illumined his profile through the veil of his hair.
Carah rolled away, found the moon had nearly set. All that remained was a bloody blister on the far roofs, and that too sank out of sight. She laid awake, listening for Rhian’s every move, every breath, every heartbeat. And as she’d dreaded, dawn came all too soon.
~~~~
22
Pages made their rounds shortly after dawn. The boys and girls recruited from the city’s well-to-do knocked on one door after another, rousing highborns and announcing, “Breakfast is on its way. All lords and ladies are to meet in the King’s Hall one hour before noon. The King’s Hall, one hour before noon!”
“Hnh, Valryk is generous,” Kelyn said, closing the door as the page moved on down the corridor. True, talks and activities always resumed bright and early at the Ilswythe Assembly.
“And wise,” Thorn tossed in, knotting his sash about his waist. A silver moon, a silver sunburst, and a silver lightning bolt winked at the ends of the tassels. “Unrested men tend to have short tempers.”
“Like us?”
“Will you have trouble holding your tongue today, War Commander?”
Kelyn let out a breath and sank heavily onto the settee. “I’ll have trouble holding my eyes open, I fear.”
Near the hearth, Rhian tugged on his boots, whipped his hair back into a leather cord and ducked from the chamber without a word.
“Where’s he going?”
Thorn buckled his sword belt over the sash, despite the king’s orders. “I sent him to the kitchens. The servants will bring up only two breakfast trays, after all, and I’m famished. I was able to snatch only a morsel from the kitchens last night.”
“The ghost of Bramoran,” Carah said with a yawn. She sat against the headboard of her bed, wishing these men would leave so she could cross the floor to the privy in her bare feet. They were oblivious to a lady’s delicate needs, however.
Her uncle grinned. “The ghost of Bramoran has a gray cat.”
“That cat died long ago,” Kelyn said, disturbed by the reminder. He cleared away the pillow and blankets he’d stacked on the round dining table, readying it for the trays.
“Will you please take your breakfast elsewhere?” Carah blurted. “Since Valryk commanded me to stay here, I can go back to sleep—if you men will remove yourselves.”
“You’re coming down with us,” Thorn said.
“But Valryk—”
“What Valryk doesn’t know won’t hurt him, will it? You’re not staying here where we can’t keep an eye on you. Don’t worry, you won’t be seen any more than I will.”
Her plans for a peaceful, lazy morning dashed, she flung aside the bedcovers and made for the privy closet; only then did they take a hint and bow out. The ginger-haired maid brought a covered silver tray as Carah was sliding into her riding leathers. No fine silk gowns today. She was going into the King’s Hall in secret, as an avedra. The idea put a thrill in her belly. Once the maid left, Carah donned her silver robe and carried her breakfast next door to her father’s suite.
Da was still in his dressing room, primping. Rhian lounged with his feet up, sipping something hot from a porcelain cup that looked tiny and fragile in his hands. He’d foregone the squire’s livery in favor of the studded black jerkin and riding leathers. Her uncle tore into a ham cutlet at the table. “Anyone have any dreams last night?”
Carah fumbled her tray. The table caught it with a clatter. “Only the same one,” she said, sliding into a chair. It was only half a lie. The dream had started like the others.
“Sure I didn’t sleep a damn wink,” Rhian said, not looking up from his tea.
“No dragons?” Thorn asked, glancing between them.
“You dreamed of dragons?” Carah thought that sounded lovely, like flying with falcons.
“Only one. It was soaring, calling …” After a moment he smiled and added, “Maybe it was a dream of my own. That would be a nice change.”
Kelyn finally joined them, bathed and trimmed and dressed smartly in black velvet embroidered with silver stags. “Everyone ready?”
“You haven’t eaten,” his brother said, gesturing at the covered tray.
“I can’t. Too nervous.”
“Ogre shit. How does it go, War Commander? Don’t look for the battle, wait till it comes to you. Relax. Eat something. You have hours before you’re expected.”
In the meantime, with her belly full, Carah curled up on the settee and slept soundly at last. No dreams, no nightmares, just heavy black sleep. When she woke, Uncle Thorn was gone. Da was leaning over her, a finger brushing her cheek. “Do as they say, dearheart. Be careful.”
In the corridor, voices echoed under the vaulted ceiling. Feet whispered past. Da slipped out the door and joined the other highborns descending to t
he King’s Hall. Carah heard him greet someone boisterously. The gruff, groaning reply sounded like Garrs with a hangover.
A teacup clattered onto a saucer and Rhian pushed himself to his feet. “All right, here’s the plan. You and I are to slip into the Hall and stand well out of the way and keep our eyes and ears open. Thorn will be there too, doing the same.”
Carah stretched and yawned and waited for more. “That’s it? Just stand there.”
“Aye, and hope it will be a boring day. If it’s not, I’m to get you outta the Hall and the castle altogether.”
“How?”
“Damned if I know. Blast through a few gates, I guess.”
“Some plan,” she groused, crossing her arms. Could he really blast open doors as easily as saying it? “So we get to be invisible?”
“I’ll maintain a veil, but it will have to be tight, so stay close. I know how much that idea appeals to you.”
Heat bloomed up from Carah’s chest and into her face. “Hnh!” she grunted, covering for it as best she could.
“Listen, will you? If you wander too far, you’ll appear where you weren’t before. But more tricky still is staying out of people’s way. Some servant comes blundering along and he’ll bump into something that shouldn’t be there. He screams, ‘Ghost,’ and mass panic ensues. Don’t laugh, I’ve seen it happen, so stay alert.”
Carah bit off her smirk. “Anything else?”
Rhian sighed. “Sure I feel I’ve wasted too much breath already. One-two-three, go. Thevril.”
Nothing happened. Carah raised her eyebrows waiting for the magic show.
With a groan of forced patience, Rhian said, “Veil Sight. Then put out your hand.”
She obeyed to humor him and was surprised to find a pulsing, vibrating bubble of energy hemming them in. She raised a hand to touch it. Her fingers tingled sharply and left shimmering purple ripples on the air.
“Satisfied?” He grabbed her hand and tugged her unceremoniously for the door.
The King’s Hall rumbled with milling highborns. They angled, maneuvered, bargained, playing the game they knew best. The three kings and Prince Da’yn occupied the high table under their towering banners. Valryk had foregone wearing his crown today but still looked regal in a dark plum doublet and a heavy chain of silver roses. Arryk scribbled vigorously on a sheet of parchment while King Ha’el whispered heatedly with his son. Da’yn hunched back in his chair, sleepy and disgruntled.
